Never a Memory
by Catsitta
Summary: In a world defined by heroes and nightmares, is there such a thing as a second chance? Will the Planet's champion fall from grace when given a way to attain revenge? Dark. Time travel. AU. Multiple romantic pairings.
1. Memories of Shadow

**A/N: **

**I love feedback, reviews, comments, fave's, alerts, etc.! **

Yes. Yet another one of Catsitta's time travel stories. Why? Because I'm having writers block and this is what happened to flow. Trust me, I'm not abandoning or neglecting Fourth Time's the Charm, Ghost of Wutai or my other stories. I simply do not wish to force myself to write when the idea is not fluid. Alas, to have a concept yet the words just seem to muck up and tangle together…

Anywho, I'm going for a different twist on the theme (I adore reading and writing time fics for some reason), as well as experimenting with my writing style. For readers of my other stories, you will likely notice significant differences in my voicing and styling of the narrative. Why? As I always say when I start these ventures, it is because I'm growing as a writer and an artist. By trying out new ideas, methods and whatnot, I can figure out what suits me best as well as what appeals to the reader the most.

Also, I have to thank my good buddy, MuffinLordLionsGate for joining me on this little expedition. Her ideas and criticism turned this random brainchild into a tangible storyline. It is amazing how someone who inspires so much Crack humor can also pave the way into darker territory.

But, enough of my jibber-jabber.

Onwards!

**Summary: **In a world defined by heroes and nightmares, is there such a thing as a second chance? Will the Planet's champion fall from grace when given a way to attain revenge? Dark. Time travel. AU. Multiple pairings.

**Warning(s): **This story will potentially (likely) include: Violence, gore, blood, torture, death, adult situations, abuse, both heterosexual and homosexual relationships, and of course, lots and lot of angst-driven mindfuckery. I will not be repeating this general warning statement.

**Disclaimer: **I, Catsitta, own nothing except an overactive imagination and a computer. To quote another writer: "These are not my characters, I'm just abusing them."

**Pairings(s):** CloudxTifa, CloudxSephiroth, ZackxAerith (more to come)

**Rating (Story): **M

**Rating (Chapter): **T

**Word Count: **7,979

**Author/Co-author: **Catsitta **&** MuffinLordLionsGate

**Chapter Beta: **MuffinLordLionsGate

**Never a Memory**

**Chapter One: **Memories of Shadow

Whispered words chased him through the darkness of every sleepless night. Staring up into a polluted sky, the light of stars above barely piercing the tinted veil, he tried to forget. He tried so hard to escape the memories that haunted his every moment—waking or asleep—because in silence, at least, he did not have to hear_ his _voice. Why was it so difficult to clear his mind of tainted dreams and living nightmares? After all this time, why could he not find peace?

Braced against the bitter cold of the mountain air, Cloud fought to empty his thoughts and for once admire the peace that so many now indulged in. The fight was over. He was safe, alive and well. There was no need to linger in the past for the future was shining brighter than the stars ever could. Yet…that single whispered promise kept him on edge, alert and ready for battle.

_I will never be a memory._

After all these years, those words still plagued him. Sephiroth, the infamous one-winged angel, whose actions would forever scar the Planet and those who walk upon it, would never be just a memory. Cloud knew better than to let his guard down, to hope and believe that the man was finally dead.

Nightmares always linger, emerging when least expected and your defenses are down. The truth was unavoidable when so many times it had looked him in the eye. Sephiroth would always come back and haunt him, one day, he knew, the silver-haired swordsman would return. Why could no one else realize it? Why did he, Cloud Strife, have to bear the burden alone? Was it because he was the Planet's chosen hero, the Golden WEAPON? Did the people truly believe that he would be there forever to save them from the nightmare?

Heroes died. Unlike the malevolent shadows that they faced, heroes and their inner light faded. Everything said champions and saviors fought for and against, the common people always forgot, their journeys and tragedies but legends carried on through generations as fantastical stories—mere folklore. One day, he would join the ranks of these forsaken chosen and be just a memory passed on as a tale of fiction and the world would have to face Calamity's son alone.

Cloud shuddered at the thought. Why did things end up like this?

His eyes falling from the sky as dreadful images began to invade his almost peace, the savior of the Planet took in the scene around him. For the past year, he spent his time trying to forget the past, his travels taking him around the world. Yet, he always seemed to be drawn back to this place. Nibelheim. A town of beginnings and ends. The birthplace of heroes and nightmares. Every enigma that ever was is somehow connected to the turmoil of this hidden realm, the threads of Fate rooted in Nibelheim's soil.

All around him are strangers, each ignorant of the true nature of this place. They knew it was a reconstructed town— that it burned to the ground years ago. But to many, such were echoes from the past. The ashes of the once rampant blaze were nowhere to be found. Nothing remained of that dreadful past except the unforgettable pain in the hearts of the few survivors.

In returning to Nibelheim, Cloud never expected his soul to wrench as it did. He thought that this would be but a brief visit in which he at last forgave himself and banished the ghosts that bothered his conscience. But seeing the town again, almost an exact replica of what it used to be, it pushed up feelings and memories that left him staggering.

He rode into town on Fenrir, the sleek motorcycle announcing its presence with a roar and purr. Instead of swinging off the bike, delivering the package that he was here to send, and leaving, he remained. It was a mistake to linger, but the pain seemed to pin him down against the building on which he leaned. The package was delivered, but he could not quite force himself to leave. Perhaps it was because the ghosts that plagued him possessed an impossibly strong hold.

Fenrir still hummed, waiting for his rider to straddle the seat and, yet again, race towards the darkening horizon. Cloud never stayed long. Nowhere felt right. With nightmares chasing him, he doubted anywhere would feel safe. Being the hero was not always what it was cracked up to be. Once you start down that path, the past always tries to come up from behind and swallow you whole. Fate plays with those who defy the odds and the end is never pretty. It was best for him never to settle in once place because at least then he was harder to find. But like nightmares, Fate is preserving, twisting her tendrils around the heroes until they faltered and were lost in the corroding sands of time.

A soft, dark chuckle escaped Cloud's barely parted lips.

Here he was, standing in a place he hated as a child and now could not seem to part away from it. Such wicked irony. The deep seeded loathing of the town would never fade completely, but it was a novel concept to feel nostalgia towards this reconstructed hellhole. Then again, home was still always home. Nibelheim was where he was born. As pathetic an excuse as that was, it appeared to be enough to trap him in old habits and dusty memories.

"I should leave," Cloud murmured as his laughter faded, the fleeting sensation of amusement practically worsening his already solemn mood. Dark days were hard to forget even when the times were jovial and bright. His hands were coated with too much blood, the same blood of those that turned him into what he was. They say heroes are supposed to have happy endings, but the truth was, they never did. Heroes were born or made to suffer and perish. Some could say their triumphs led to the happiness of others, but in the depths of their hearts, the sins they committed to gain success weighed heavy on their soul.

Shifting his weight, the hero of the Planet at last moved away from the building he leaned against. Slowly, he reached out and grasped Fenrir's handlebars, feeling the steady hum of the engine, before swinging his leg over and squeezing the throttle. On Cloud's face, he wore an expression that some might consider sad; when in truth, he felt nothing, merely emptiness and regret.

His purpose fulfilled, he began to ride out of the quiet town of his birth.

Nothing remained to keep him there except bad dreams and memories, none of which were worth saying to endure. Yet as the town disappeared behind him, something nagged at him, urged him to turn around. '_There is something you need to do'_ the sensation seemed to say in an almost begging fashion. What could there possibly be left for him to do in that dreadful place except wait for the nightmare to return when Sephiroth rose again?

Dismissing the bothersome thought, he squeezed harder on the throttle. Fenrir roared even louder, drowning any doubts in an almost all-consuming sound. The wind tugged at his clothing and wild blond hair—his leather jacket billowing out behind him like a cape of sorts. Caught in a familiar lull, Cloud did not notice when the world around him began to change until he experienced a sudden wash of vertigo, throwing his mind into a bewildered loop.

Next thing he knew, he was slowing down, Fenrir still purring and growling as normal, but the bike seemed to momentarily have a mind of its own. Frowning, Cloud toyed with the throttle and the brake, doing anything to either speed up or slow down the lazy pace it set. As he did so, he was blissfully unaware of where he was headed until the first shadow encompassed him. Blinking with confusion, knowing that at night there were no shadows during a new moon, Cloud glanced up towards the sky. Not only was it light outside, early morning at his best guess, but he was back in Nibeheim.

Never once could he recall ever turning around.

At last, Fenrir came to a stop, idling as its rider took in the scene, his observant blue gaze catching every detail. Cloud was not exactly certain what to think other than he must have fallen asleep while riding and was now dreaming. Knowing how dangerous it was for such to happen, the blond did what any other person would do: He pinched himself—hard.

Wincing from the sharp pain that only mako enhanced strength provided to the gesture, Cloud came to realize that he was still caught in the dream. Settling his hands back on the handlebars, he braced himself for whatever hellish nightmare would soon consume this peaceful recreation of his childhood home. Unlike the rebuilt Nibelheim of reality, this one created by his mind bore every detail accurately from before its destruction. From the sign at the outer limits that hung from rusted links, the weathered wood barely intact and the faded paint almost illegible, to the hail beaten houses with their dented tin roofs.

Cloud let one foot touch the ground, resting the mass of the bike against his outstretched leg, unbothered by the extraordinary weight of the machine that could potentially crush the normal man of his size. It was amazing what mako could do, especially when combined with Jenova cells. His strength was insurmountable; his bone structure lighter but more resilient; he could see in the dark; neither extreme heat nor cold bothered him to any extent; he was faster than any human could dream of being; and the list goes on and on. But like every blessing, there was a price. To become the perfect SOLDIER, he lost everything, including his identity, and even to this day he still struggled to piece together his past.

Using enhanced senses, of which enemies often manipulated against SOLDIERS, the hero of the Planet attempted to gain his bearing. It was startling and disturbing when the scents, sights and sounds were too real and familiar to be anything but reality. Cloud took in a steady breath, determined to break whatever illusion encompassed him. It really was dangerous to drive Fenrir when he was in any state other than completely alert. His friends often claimed the bike would be the death of him one day.

At which, he usually snorted.

Fenrir was his baby and the only person who would die riding her would be the moron who attempted such a feat. Cloud could handle the tumultuous mood swings of his precious motorcycle, and he alone. Often enough he warned his companions away from taking joy rides. Luckily, they were smart enough thus far to listen.

Realizing that he was thinking too much about a likely simple situation, Cloud sighed. The fact that this dream—or whatever the hell it was—stayed intact, told him enough about his state of mind. He was alive. Then again, it took a whole hell of a lot more than a simple crash to kill a SOLDIER or anything as pumped with as much mako as himself.

Deciding that there was no point in wasting even imaginary fuel, he cut the engine and Fenrir's purr wound to a halt. Once the bike fell silent, he swung his leg over the seat and guided it to the side of the dirt-paved road. Certain it would be safe where he left it, since no one would be stupid enough to try to steal the vehicle unless they wished a slow and painful death, Cloud walked away; but, not before he gathered his belongings from the side compartment. Even if no one would take the bike, someone might be idiotic enough to snatch his travel bag or even a piece of First Tsurugi.

As he walked, the spiky-haired blond, put together his trademark fusion sword. It was a comforting, familiar task that he could do in seconds. The slightest of smirks crossed his lips when the blade was complete; then, he hooked it between his shoulder blades, the crossing straps of leather less cumbersome than a sheath.

Cloud took perhaps a few dozen steps, his feet crunching the thin layer of frost covering the ground, when an all too familiar voice cut through the air.

"What's the likes of your kind doing here?" A blistering snarl came from behind him, the kind used by the chauvinistic occupants of an isolated town. The words cut through the frigid air like a heated knife, whistling and steaming; dislike and suspicion dripping from every poorly pronounced word. Cloud gritted his teeth as old anger bubbled to the surface. _'No, they are not worth it,'_ he told himself, quelling the tempered hatred formed, in what felt like, a lifetime ago.

Without even turning or batting a mako-bright eye, Cloud replied with indifference, "Merely passing through," before continuing to move onwards. This dream or hallucination was quite curious of a phenomenon. He barely remembered Nibelheim from his youth, in truth, the fragmented memories tainted with green were hardly enough to construct an image this clear. Most of what he could remember were faces and emotions, a broken phrase or scene. Yet this place, the further he walked and the more he saw, quickly struck him as being a flawless copy of his home before his entire life spiraled out of control. It was as if he were remembering everything in a fluid sequence that had yet to reach its conclusion.

A few more steps and he paused. Was the Planet doing this? Of all the memories of his lost youth to return, why images of Nibelheim and its surly inhabitants? True, he was feeling mildly homesick, but that was more of a desire actually to have a home again, one with family and warmth. He wanted a place where he could actually feel safe and reassured that Sephiroth was not going to return. This bizarre portrayal of his past was not desired, but then again, he was not exactly in control of what the Planet did. If She wanted to mess with his mind and muck about with his memories, well, there was not a thing Cloud could do to stop Her.

Deciding to resign to Her game or whosever's this was, Cloud willed himself to walk deeper into the town.

That was when another familiar fragment fell into place. Almost as if he were watching a strange movie or play, Tifa, looking to be perhaps fifteen, ran across the street, her face streaked with angry tears. The brunette clutched something to her rather developed chest, but when she tripped on something hidden in the snow, whatever it was went sailing from her grasp. Pale face blotchy from crying, sable eyes watery and bloodshot, Tifa mere lay there, collapsed in the snow.

Uncertain what to do, since, this was what he assumed to be a memory (but he appeared to be able to interact with people which was odd), Cloud continued to walk until he was perhaps a meter away. He tilted his head, blue eyes sweeping over his friend's younger form before settling onto the ground where her lost prize lay. Whatever it was presumably held significance to Tifa, so, he stepped towards the object buried in the snow, and knelt beside it. He could feel the scrutinizing gaze of the emotionally fragile teen.

So, rather than delay any action, Cloud reached forwards and plucked up the item. None too surprisingly, it was a materia orb. While Tifa never grew up to be a master at using the crystals, she knew which ones benefitted her and the team the best. An ignorant bumpkin would struggle ever to gain potency at their use, but a wealthy little girl with a penchant for exploring the mako rich mountains of Nibelheim had a chance.

Rolling the glassy-blue orb between his fingers for a moment, the blond determined that it was an unleveled Speed Boost. Support materia were a rare find even in Nibelheim. Mostly green Attack materia were all one could scrounge up easily while exploring. During his examination of the crystal, Cloud ignored Tifa's stare, but upon its conclusion, he returned the gesture. Guarded blue eyes of a war torn veteran met frightened sable of a distraught, albeit spoiled, teenager.

Rising to his feet, without breaking his gaze from Tifa's, Cloud wondered how this not-quite-a-memory felt so real and looked so vivid. Deciding not to hesitate, lest he incur the wrath of the younger version of his impatient friend, Cloud held out the materia at arm's length for her to take. The brunette scrambled to her feet, either recovered from her emotional ordeal or too surprised to do anything but react to the situation. Then, after flicking her gaze over Cloud a few times, she stepped forwards and reclaimed the orb.

As her fingers enclosed around it, the hero of the Planet offered neither a smile nor a spoken phrase. What was the use in speaking to someone who was not actually there? All that proved was that he was more deeply lost in insanity than he claimed. Talking to something that did not exist ranked up with conversing with oneself. Even if one explained it away as a dream or spell woven by the very Planet herself, people never quite looked at you the same afterwards and in a way, Cloud doubted he would look at himself the same if he ever did.

Tifa shuffled backwards, a breathy thanks emerging from her lips as she continued to watch him with apparent interest. Cloud dismissed the thought and tried to continue his walk towards nowhere in particular but a certain brunette teen stood in his way. She was frowning at him, eyes narrowed and speculating. He could see the small town presumptions in her gaze.

"Who are you?" Tifa spoke in clipped tones—ungrateful as she always was in his fractured memories. The loss of her father and home during Nibelheim's burning did much to smooth the harsh edges of her biting personality. Cloud preferred the companionship of mature Tifa, the one who was stubborn and brave, not this bratty child that stood before him. It would be a waste of his time to bother saying even a word to her, but even if it made him crazy to reply, he could not help but give an unemotional response.

"No one," he stated, blinking lazily. Why was this memory or dream, or whatever it was supposed to be, so uneventful and boring, anyway? There had to be a purpose, a deeper meaning he was not seeing. Otherwise, it was pointless and nothing irritated Cloud Strife more than aimless, uneventful adventures, even if said ventures were only in his rather unstable mind.

It made no sense.

"That's not an answer," Tifa's retort was filled with barbs; "You have to have a name or something." It was not any of her business to know his name. He could happily live his life without most of the people who already knew his name, knowing it. A private and socially distant person by both necessity and nature, Cloud hated it when someone cornered him and demanded information that he already expressly told he was not willing to share. Fighting back the scowl that wanted to twist into his features, the blond allowed his eyes to narrow some and his chin to lift.

He still had his pride and a verbal lashing only provoked to show itself. With snort of disinterest, Cloud crossed his arms. "I have a name, yes, but name is none of your business." For a moment, he wondered exactly when he became so cold. Was it when he watched his home burn, or when he went through a thousand different torments in Hojo's lab? Or, was it when he thrust First Tsurugi through Sephiroth's chest that final time and watched as the silver-haired swordsman melted into shadows?

Did it matter when or how he lost his ability to actually care about others? Monsters did not have true emotions—they did not feel aside from anger and hate. Hojo made it rather clear to Cloud that he was but a clone, a puppet, a monster playing human. For a long time, he fought against the scientist's wicked truth and claimed that he was human, like any other SOLDIER. Laughable how naïve he was then. After a while, growing numb and cold was a natural reaction to his fading grip on the concept of humanity. It was best not to care when the world around you is trying to kill itself.

Even when the chaos died and Cloud emerged a hero from the wreckage, there was little anyone could do to bring back his inner warmth and light. That beacon that all heroes carried within them, that blazing determination to protect what they cherish most, was dimming with every passing year.

'_There is nothing I don't cherish.'_

He said it himself when Sephiroth and he fought last. The man had asked that Cloud tell him what he cherished most so that he could take it away. Then, those words rang with truth. Even if his heart was closing, then, there was a lingering ember of fragile youth. How he maintained even a glimmer of innocence up until that battle was anyone's guess, but that was ripped away easily enough. Broken, cold and weary of all the fighting—Cloud walked away alive but unable to truly thrive.

Now, it seemed his only purpose was to wait until the miserable inhabitants of the Planet needed him to save the day again. They did not care if he was haunted every moment by shadows and nightmares. They did not care if he was slowly spiraling into insanity. They did not care as long as he charged into battle like a good little hero of the light and slew the evil darkness that hunted them like wild game. Cloud, like a loyal pet, knew that he would always answer the call to fight. It was in his nature to fight against nightmares and monsters, but the double-edged blade also forced him to straddle the line that defined humanity.

Never fair, the game Fate plays.

"Hey! Are you listening, featherhead?" Tifa's taunt broke Cloud from his musings. Tilting his head, he wondered exactly how much of the conversation he missed when he was lost in thought.

Not caring enough to inquire, he offered nothing more than a shrug and callous retort, "No."

Offended, the brunette squeezed the blue materia in her hand and began cursing in the Nibel dialect. It took Cloud up until this point to realize that they were speaking a more common form of the trade language. Every child who grew up in Nibelheim knew the common tongue, but they also lived surrounded by adults who spoke the native dialect, which sounded vaguely like common but it was butchered to point that it should have been considered a different language entirely.

Annoyed, Cloud found himself slipping into his native accent, his words slurred, curled and garbled,"I would advise you to cease with your tantrum immediately. If you do not, I will haul you back to your father's house and inform him of your foul mouth. Even if I am a stranger, that does not excuse you to speak to me with such disrespect and it is likely he will agree." His low tone was bordering threatening. Gaia, when did this foolishness end?

Tifa froze. Either the accent only a native born of Nibelheim could possess or the threat of being handed over to her likely angry father broke the brunette from her fury. She squeaked with disbelief and inched backwards, her eyes wide. "Y-you…are you from here?"

"Was I born here, you mean?" Cloud slipped easily back into the less mangled version of the language, of which, he was more familiar with. He uncrossed his arms. Tifa stepped backwards, obviously thinking that he would actually do her physical harm. Even he was not as heartless as to attack the bratty teen, but knowing her older self and having limited patience led to his snappish behavior. It had been a while since he had to deal with this particular brand of idiocy. "Again, that is none of your business."

"You have to be." Tifa murmured, "There is too much resemblance between you and Cloud…and the accent!"

The corner of his mouth twitched upon hearing his own name. How amusing.

"Alright, you caught me. I am from here, but no one will remember my presence. As for the resemblance to this 'Cloud', I can come to the assumption that you are referring to the Strife family. If you must call me anything, Strife will suffice, because yes, we are of relation." Believing that would be enough to end their conversation, Cloud once again attempted to move past the annoying teenager.

"That I'm finding rather hard to believe…Strife." Again, why was Tifa challenging what he was saying? Did she never give up even pointless arguments? "Cloud can't possibly be related to the likes of your type, even if you two look alike."

"You do realize that you are contradicting yourself, Miss Lockheart?"

THAT shut her up.

"I presumed since you came running from that mansion over there," Cloud pointed at her father's home, "that you are his daughter. Am I incorrect?" Tifa, of course, shook her head. "Good, now, unless you would like to be returned to your father in a rather undignified fashion, do please get out of my way." She shuffled to the side, her obstinate nature subdued for the time being. "Thank you. Now, I must be off."

As he walked by, Tifa did speak up once more, but in a soft tone,"If you're here to visit family, Cloud's mother is all who is here. Gale did not marry so she's been alone in her house since her only son ran off to join the army. Cloud wants to be a SOLDIER, like you are."

"Foolish young dreams," Cloud murmured, "wanting to prove one's self a hero. Prove that you are not weak…" His gaze again met that of Tifa's, "Go home, girl. My business is my own."

"I-I…I can't…" The brunette looked down trodden and tears make her eyes watery. It was upon hearing this that a fractured memory flicked through his mind.

"_Tifa!" Young Cloud cried; he was perhaps twelve then. "What happened?" Kneeling in the snow, her arms wrapped around her slender waist, the brunette continued to sob. They were not the closest of friends, but the girl was obviously in pain. Scuttling closer, the blond could see flecks of red staining the white. Blood. "Tifa?" he reached forwards and tried to touch her, but the brunette flinched and snarled that he and his 'spiky-ass' should leave her alone._

_Uncaring of the consequences, Cloud grabbed Tifa's wrist and pulled the arm away from her belly, his eyes widening when he drew his hand back and found it coated in crimson. Sable eyes looked up at him, wide with a mixture of chaotic emotions. A dark stain was forming on Tifa's stomach. Cloud looked a little closer at the girl's arms and wrists. _

_Thin, mostly clotted cuts encircled her wrists, and bruises were forming along her arms. Tifa was silent as she gently placed an open palm over the darkening stain on her belly. _

"_Who did this to you?" Cloud demanded._

_Tifa looked away and said nothing. She would never say anything about her abuser but the betrayal on her face spoke volumes. Together, they kneeled in the snow, silently accepting each other's presence as something needed. They were not friends, but at least for the time being, they were not rivals either._

The memory misted away in a cloud of green. Strange…but that still did not explain why she had a support materia and not something to heal her wounds. Cloud frowned.

"Why did you not take a Potion or a Cure?" He asked.

"I-I…I couldn't find one." Tifa was looking at him peculiarly. "Why…how…?"

Cloud pulled back the sleeve of his jacket, revealing a dual-slotted bracer,"Your tone and posturing suggests that you are running away from an abusive situation." He held his arm out and cast a low-level Cure, causing Tifa to shift backwards. "There. Now, if there is nothing else, I would like to continue on with my day."

"T-thanks. I guess." She murmured before clutching the blue materia close and running past him. Sable eyes peered over her shoulder but they quickly looked away, obviously conflicted about the scenario. Cloud shook his head and pulled his sleeve back over the bracer. Why had he done that?

'_Because you care. Herald yourself a monster, but you still feel emotions. You still cherish the lives of others, even the lives of those who have wronged you.'_ Cloud frowned at the thought. '_It is why Gaia made you Her hero. The Planet needed someone who was willing to lie their life down for the sake of something greater than himself.'_ Hero. Again, that word. No one ever asked him if he wanted to be a hero. No, they simply realized that he was capable of doing the job so people threw him at their problems. No one ever considered his happiness as long as the world was saved yet again.

'_No, that isn't quite true…'_

The thought came quietly, but the memory with it was like a slap.

"_Cloud?" _

_He was kneeling at Zack's grave, his eyes locked on the rusted Buster sword lodged into the soil. The speaker wrapped her arms around his neck. Tifa. Cloud shuddered as old pain resurfaced. His best friend died trying to save him. What irony! _

"_Cloud, you've been here for two hours. The gang is getting worried." The sable-eyed brunette spoke softly; she understood the grief of losing someone she loved. Her father was not a nice man but Tifa still regarded him with love only a daughter could hold; his death shook her to the point of shattering. Not a day went by where she did not think about Nibelheim, Cloud knew because his friend would seek him out at night and curl by his side, whispering nonsense and crying until the hurt went away._

_Some people called them lovers and, perhaps they were. They held each other when everything became too much and neither of them wanted to be alone. Sometimes this would lead to a kiss and all of maybe a handful of times did it go any further. Tifa would murmur 'I love you' after every time he cradled her against his chest and stroked her long hair. He never said it back. Monsters did not know how to love; they especially did not fall in love with beautiful women._

_On occasion, the haphazard man or woman would see them together and notice how easily they got along. They would interpret every brush of the shoulder or shy laugh as a sign of blossoming love. A few asked him why he had not proposed already, a woman like Tifa did not come around all that often. True, they were friends; at times, the best of friends. Tifa grew up into a beautiful, strong and independent creature that he could like and respect. And, often enough she would stare after him with adoration in her sable eyes; her touches would last just a second longer than anyone else's. _

_But, Cloud knew better. He knew that she needed someone who was not falling to pieces inside his own mind. She needed someone who was stable and smart, capable of keeping her interest and withstanding her temper when it reared its ugly head. She needed someone who was not a plaything of fate, his strings tugged along by the silver-haired swordsman out to destroy the world. What she did not need was him. He knew that. He accepted that. He was not supposed to be happy and find a beautiful lover to marry and raise a family with. That he did not question. It was not his place to pursue such human pleasures, even if he wanted nothing more to lose himself in said pleasures._

_In moments like this, when Cloud attempted to reconcile with his past, he wanted nothing more than to be human in every way again. There were so many things he once cherished and yet with each passing day he felt himself grow numb. Few things brought him back to the edge of feeling everything again: each moment of pain, sadness, joy, grief and anger. Visiting Zack's grave was one._

_Emotions raw, Cloud allowed Tifa to kiss his cheek and comfort him with her presence. The supple shape of a woman's body pressed against his back would normally take his thoughts elsewhere, but even desire was snuffed out by the intensity of his grief. _

"_Cloud?"_

"_I'm fine, Teef." The blond murmured, closing his eyes. "Just thinking."_

"_Come home, Cloud." _

"_Home…Is there really such a place for us anymore?"_

Cloud did not realize he was walking until the memory faded and he noticed that he stood outside an all too familiar place. The ShinRa Mansion. Hate and anger filled him with burning intensity. This place…this nightmarish place. If it were not for the secrets and lies hidden within its walls, Sephiroth would have never gone insane, preaching about Jenova being an ancient and his mother and how he planned to get revenge on all the humans who did her wrong. Anger prompted him to yank open the door and stride inside.

Dust coated everything in an ethereal sheen of gray. From the dual staircase that led to the empty rooms above, to the serene and innocent furnishings that littered the floor. This place was a rich man's home and a crazy man's dynasty. Without thinking, knowing only that this dream was of the past; Cloud unsheathed his sword and began to trash everything.

000X000

SOLDIER strength and speed could do an astounding amount of damage in a relatively short amount of time. Within ten minutes, the mansion was barely standing on its framework since every inner wall was in ruin. Everything inside the mansion, from the unsuspecting sofas, to the beds to the very books in the bookcases: Cloud tore apart with First Tsurugi.

Beneath the mansion, the blindly destructive swordsman continued his rampage, smashing the underground laboratory of his nightmares into smithereens. Computers, mako tanks, surgical equipment—all of it was smashed to bits, only pausing in his fury to grab a handful of research papers.

Angrily, Cloud read the very words that sent Sephiroth into insanity. Unsure how it was possible, since, he had never actually seen the documents himself previously, the blond continued to scan the documents. Anything that said the word 'Jenova' or 'Project S', he ripped apart. Lies. All of it was Gaia forsaken lies! If it was not for Hojo and his insane desire to recreate the Ancients, to make a god among men, then maybe, Cloud might have grown up a normal kid. Sephiroth may have never been in the picture, and if he was, well, there was a chance he might have grown up normal, always believing he was human.

Soon, he was panting, his anger exhausting him. But the bitter taste in his mouth reminded him that his purpose here was not over yet. The Planet must have granted him this dream so that he could come to terms with the past; taking his frustration out on the place he hated the most. Cloud suspected that this would not be over until the mansion burned to the ground, its lies and nightmares turned into ash.

Even if it was but a fragile illusion of sorts, it was a nice thought to believe he was actually changing the past. Laughable, but comforting in a strange way. Cloud grinned in slightly crazed manner before leaving the mutilated laboratory. He could think of one person who would enjoy the mansion burning as much himself: Vincent Valentine. The ex-Turk was likely in the same place in this dream as he was in real life.

All it took to find him was remembering which coffin he was kept trapped within.

Not bothering to find the key, Cloud released Vincent in a little more convenient way. Using First Tsurugi as a lever, he pried open the stone coffin's lid. He recalled his first time here, when he was stumbling about. It was shocking then to see a darkened room filled with half empty tombs and vicious monsters. Finding Vincent, (back) then, had been a stroke of luck.

Now, he was freeing the ex-Turk on purpose.

As the stone lid slid away, golden eyes flashed open and a growl escaped his lips.

"Chaos, I would really appreciate speaking to your host, Vincent ." Cloud said with a smirk, knowing that he had to look as delirious as he felt now, with his face flushed with exertion and his eyes bright with mako shine.

Those golden eyes considered him with disbelief. "How do you know my host and me?" Chaos purred, rising from where he lay and lifting his golden arm, clicking the clawed fingers together with malicious implication. Strange how realistic the Planet made this memory-dream thing—he could sense the familiar hunger of the demon as he watched him with interest. He could hear the strange mesh of voices of the hybrid demon, where it was impossible to tell if it was an overlay of two speakers or a thousand. Those elongated canines gleaming in the shadows were enough to make the blond pause for a moment to think. Quirking his head to the side, Cloud let out a ragged sigh, this not-dream was turning into a time-consuming affair.

"Long story, Chaos, of which I would prefer to share with your host." The hero of the Planet tossed the words about carelessly, knowing that unless he irked the ex-Turk, the man would do his best to ignore him. Cold and aloof gained Cloud Vincent's company over the years, but it was in the moments of reckless and sarcastic thoughts or actions that earned the other man's attention, "So unless you would like to go back to sleeping for another thirty years as Vincent repents for his sins, you might wish to cooperate."

Chaos curled Vincent's lip back into that of a snarl. The fine-boned features, olive-toned skin, and shoulder-length black hair of the ex-Turk were typical of Wutain descendants. He was likely not one hundred percent Wutain, but the bloodline was there. And Chaos's anger morphed the attractive face of his host into something disturbing.

"Insolent human—" The demon snarled, flaring his folded wings and leaping from the coffin. Cloud, honestly, was surprised that Chaos let him say anything before attacking. Burning gold eyes flashed with familiar fury, the hunger for souls and precious lifeblood driving him into a feral state. Had Cloud been anyone else, or any less mako-enchanced, he would be dead right now.

Lightning quick strikes came from every angle as Chaos ripped through the air, the clawed-arm nearly connecting with the young hero every time. The blond expected attack—though his choice of words was careless—he knew that the demon was prone to violent fits, 'twas his primal nature to fight, slay and devour. But, his objective was not to clash with Chaos; it was to talk to Vincent. Injuring the man now—without rendering him unconscious in doing so—would only incite the demon to fall into a lustful rage, in which he would stop at nothing short of making the kill.

A howl of outrage filled the room as Cloud danced around Chaos, leaping this way and that, performing graceful acrobatic maneuvers over the unopened tombs. One would think that First Tsurugi would get in the way, but after all these years, doing most everything with the sword was second nature. Its weight was familiar. Its length and bulk no longer a hazard. It felt right.

Though, the lithe blond did make a critical error in his maneuvers eventually. Landing on top of a stone coffin, Cloud found his balance shifted a degree too far back. His foot slipped; he felt himself waver. Chaos lunged, the agile body of his host colliding with him before he could regain his balance. Pain flared through his arms and chest as the deadly golden-claw pierced Cloud's flesh, slicing deep into the muscle and tissue.

The blond choke down a shout of surprise and watched with horror as the demon hovered over him, gazing hungrily at the crimson that bubbled from the wounds. A smirk crossed Chaos's features and fanged teeth lowered to dig into the column of his throat and end the blond's life. Only, Cloud was not going to let this dream turn into a nightmare. Growling, the swordsman regained his composure and kicked, landing a heavy blow to the demon's gut, throwing him off and a few meters backwards.

Chaos hissed, furious that his meal was still fighting back.

Cloud rose to his feet and felt his injuries begin to close and heal. He could go all morning, noon and night like this: He was not even tired! His heart beating rapidly from the thrill of it all, the blond drew his sword at last and held it at ready. Chaos did not need prompting and charged back into the fray, beating his wings to send him aloft.

Twisting his body and flicking his wrists, Cloud separated First Tsurugi into two blades and deflected the demon's aerial attack. The golden claw wrapped around the left-hand sword as Chaos attempted to disarm his prey. It was a foolish move. Recognition flashed in the depths of his eyes. Of course the soul-gatherer for Omega would realize when he was facing a weapon made from the Planet's WEAPONs. He hesitated for just a moment, allowing Cloud to regain the upper hand.

Swinging the unencumbered blade, the blond connected the hilt to Chaos's temple. The demon's eyes went glassy—had he been human, the blow was potentially lethal –before rolling up into his skull. He collapsed in a heap. Cloud realized then how heavily he was breathing. Chaos was quick and abnormally strong. Had the demon been allowed to feed on any soul energy before the battle began, there was a good chance that the victor likely would have been him rather than Cloud.

Slowly, the hero of the Planet reassembled his sword and sheathed it between his shoulder blades. No sweat beaded on his brow and his muscles did not ache, but his breathing remained quick and shallow. Perhaps it was not fatigue that brought his heart to its racing tempo, but rather the thrill of battle with a worthy and challenging foe. Ever since Sephiroth's death, nothing came close to posing a true test of his limits and skill.

With a great deal of gentleness, Cloud picked up the unconscious hybrid and laid him back in the coffin, not knowing quite where else to put him. It was always strange to watch the evidence of his demonhood recede and disappear—the wings folded and melted away; fangs withdrew back into his jaw. A twitch and a sharp gasp a few minutes later signaled the ex-Turk's awakening. The blond leaned a little closer, hoping that Chaos would not be the one who emerged. It would be hard enough to explain to Vincent about the egg-sized knot forming on the side of his skull without needing to add additional injuries to control a rampaging demon.

When the man opened his eyes, Cloud saw the ruby-red gaze of Vincent Valentine.

"Hello Vincent," said addressed hybrid winced and brought a hand up to his temple as he rose from where he lay prone. For a moment, he said nothing, ignoring Cloud's presence entirely as he absorbed the situation and evaluated his injury. Seeming to realize that he himself was in no danger and that the other figure in the room only did what was needed to defend himself—Vincent at last let his hand fall to his side and glanced at the blond who spoke of Lucrecia. He had his doubts, but…

"Why did you release me?"The ex-Turk swept his gaze over Cloud with suspicion, "And how do you know my name?" An honest question. Few people would know that he was alive, much less know his name or how to find him.

"Simple." Cloud said, taking a step back, confident that he was in no danger,"This is all an illusion cast into my mind by the Planet, because, in reality, we know each other. I and my friends rescued you from here and you followed with reluctance because of sin you wished to repent for. Which, after five years, I finally coaxed you into admitting were things that were out of your control."

Vincent snorted,"Leave me be." Cloud could see distrust in the ruby gaze. Telling someone that they are part of an illusion inside your head is not the best way to gain favor, but out of all his companions, Vincent was least likely to dismiss him entirely. The ex-Turk, while reluctant ever to believe what he heard, always listened and considered. It was part of his long standing with ShinRa. Turk's gathered information in mass and sorted out what was true, what was blatantly false, and to what extent the public needed to know of it.

"I'd rather not, seeing as I'm going to burn this fucking place to the ground. So if you would just follow me, we can destroy this mansion together and I'll tell you all about Lucrecia and her son."

The ex-Turk's eyes widened; Cloud knew the ex-Turk heard his exchange with Chaos and wondered if the man had chosen to ignore the painful subject, "You know of—"

"Yes. Now hurry up, Vincent. I've waited too long for this moment and I have no qualms about letting you stay here and suffer the consequences, since, you are not real and are but a portrayal of a past reality inside my mind." Cloud had not felt so brimming with emotional energy in years. For the longest time, he slogged along in life, desperation driving him to defy the odds. Now, he was physically exhausted but every inch of his being cheered him on in his desire to burn the mansion into a pile of ash. It was…almost as if Zack's spirit had returned— filling the hollowness Cloud felt when he realized that he was living a dead man's life.

In fact, he was bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation, quite out of character, but Cloud did not care. He just wanted Vincent to hurry up and make up his mind.

"You are completely insane," said afore mentioned Turk stated after a long pause. "I am as real as you are. This is not some hallucination."

"Hn. If you wish to stay and question my sanity, feel free. If you want to know more about Lucrecia, then do stop lingering in your remorse because remaining here will not change a thing, nor ease the guilt." That said, Cloud turned on his heel and headed towards the stairs. Glancing over his shoulder, he added,"Also, I do believe you will find that destroying this Gaia-forsaken place there is much satisfaction. Hojo did you wrong, Vincent, took everything away. Don't you want to see his life's work go up in smoke?"

Vincent said nothing. Ruby eyes watched as mako-tainted blue turned away. The blond disappeared up the stairs, a foreign song humming in his chest, the sound barely audible even in the deadened silence.

000**TBC**000

**A/N: Did yah enjoy? Do you have ideas/opinions/thoughts? Then please share. I look forwards to any and all feedback, from the simplest "I like this" to the detailed paragraphs that go in depth to as why you enjoy/dislike/would like to see more or less of. **

**And while I know this is a marker set likely far off into the future, but it is a goal of mine nonetheless. For the milestones of 50, 100, 200…etc reviews (should they be reached), I will write a one shot for the reviewer. It makes me happy to write, especially for the enjoyment of others and it would make my day all the better to be able to write someone's dream fic. **

**Anywho, whether or not I reach my goals, I'll keep writing, because, hey, I love to do so.**


	2. Memories of Flame

**A/N: **

**I love feedback, reviews, comments, fave's, alerts, etc.! Thanks to all who have so far.**

Yay, update. Unfortunately, the dear Muffin Lord was unable to beta this chapter at the moment but when she has time it will likely get a makeover. So enjoy the unedited chaos that this is. Hehe.

Ah how I adore Time Travel fics. I really do. There are so many ways to interpret things and routes one can take. It makes the stories so unique and enjoyable and absolutely fun to write.

**Summary: **In a world defined by heroes and nightmares, is there such a thing as a second chance? Will the Planet's champion fall from grace when given a way to attain revenge? Dark. Time travel. AU. Multiple pairings.

**Disclaimer: **I, Catsitta, own nothing except an overactive imagination and a computer. To quote another writer: "These are not my characters, I'm just abusing them."

**Pairings(s):** CloudxTifa, CloudxSephiroth, ZackxAerith (more to come)

**Rating (Story): **M

**Rating (Chapter): **T

**Word Count: **6,584

**Author/Co-author: **Catsitta **&** MuffinLordLionsGate

**Chapter Beta: **None

**Never a Memory**

**Chapter Two: **Memories of Flame

She was not sure why the stranger intrigued her as he did. No one ever caught Tifa's interest for more than a few blinks of the eye because, normally, people were transparent. What they wanted, needed and were was always so easy to see. But this…Strife person was worth more than a cursory glance.

What grabbed her curiosity initially were his eyes. Deep and iridescent, reflecting a million shades of blue intermingled with a million shades of green. Mako. He had SOLDIER eyes. The kind of eyes that cut through the night as easily as the soul— seeing everything in crystal clarity. They were eyes that shimmered in light like a frozen pond; come night their unnatural luminance became akin to a beacon. Yet that was when those eyes were dull—the mako in their depths untapped. She could only imagine what those brilliant blues would look like when shining like stars. Would it be comparable to gleam of raw materia in the belly of the mountains, or more similar to the pools of liquid lifestream that intermittently formed in the area? Either way she pictured it, those eyes would be startling—something about the thought of human eyes glowing reminded her of how toxic mako was in its natural state.

Those eyes also held a disconcerting coldness that Tifa had only ever seen once before. For such a young man, whom could not be past his early twenties, it was disturbing to recognize how battled-hardened he had to be. Strife's gaze contained the perilous depths of a chaotic ocean—dreams, nightmares and experiences all clashing together in discord. One could feel the unrefined familiarity he had with bloodshed and war. The bitterness, the cool disregard, the arrogance, the pessimistic dissonance—all of that and more glinted in those tainted irises.

Strife knew turmoil and pain, suffering and tragedy. Every ounce of emotion he felt literally cut into the soul of whomever he looked upon. Tifa knew to be wary of his kind, but this stranger sent her reeling. Unlike the man she knew before, whom was tired and weary from a life weighted with darkness; Strife held himself with purpose and strength, completely aware that no man stood his equal. She could see this confidence not only in his eyes but also in his posture, and she could hear it in his voice. Such a beautiful voice…

In fact, Strife was rather striking in his entirety.

While neither imposingly tall or broad, the SOLDIER held an aura of power and strength that left Tifa breathless. His skin was undoubtedly pale at one point if he was from Nibelhiem, but now a soft bronze sheen tinted the once white, giving him a healthy glow. Said skin was taut and smooth, shaping around lithe, sleek muscle no doubt. True, the dark clothing Strife wore obscured his figure, but she had no problem imagining the rippling body that lie beneath the cloth and leather, buckles and belts.

Then there was his hair. His ridiculous, wheat-blond hair that looked like the backside of a chocobo. On anyone else, such a style would have made Tifa laugh, but the cropped, gravity-defying spikes (the trademark misfortune of the Strife family apparently) seemed to suit the stranger. They softened the tension that lined his face and gave him an almost whimsical, youthful appearance.

Tifa could not help but be awestruck with Strife. It was all she could do not to blush and drool like a silly, country git. But, in retrospect, behaving as she did more than likely put her in a bad light in the SOLDIER's eyes. Doubtless, he thought she was a disrespectful, spoiled child who held the same small town prejudices as everyone else in this backwater village. If only she had not felt so ashamed of that attraction that surged to the surface. Now, she could only wonder if it was his resemblance to that introverted, klutz known as Cloud that made her heart skip with delight. Not that she would ever admit to having a crush on the kid…but…

Gaia, this was all too complicated!

Feeling frustrated at her conflicted thoughts, Tifa kicked a rock and sent it sailing down the road. She watched it skip along—once, twice, thrice—before it came to an abrupt stop, paired with the clang of metal. Sable eyes widened with disbelief. Parked by the hotel was a monstrous motorcycle, much like the ones in Cloud's magazines. Except there was something strange and vaguely ominous about the bike.

The brunette shuffled closer, forgetting about her confused thoughts and earlier troubles, and focused her attention on the vehicle. It gleamed in the morning light, every inch of black metal polished to the point of perfection. Tifa could actually see her reflection in the glossy paint, her features warped by the contours. Knowing that there was no one in town that owned a motorcycle, she realized that this had to be Strife's vehicle. But how exactly had he ridden the thing on the ice-laden slopes? True, the beastly bike possessed wide wheels, but even she knew that their design was more for speed and not slippery roads.

Carefully, she brushed her fingertips against the leather seat, noting how rough the material was against her skin. Tifa narrowed her eyes; the tires did not look very new either. Despite its polish, the bike obviously had some wear-and-tear…That was when she noticed the compartment on the side. Moving quickly, she checked the lock and found the lid popping open at being touched. Surprised, she wondered why the stranger would leave the security compartment on his bike unlocked. Then she glanced down and nearly blanched with horror.

At one point, the padded interior might have been white, but dark stains muddied the cloth a faint shade of red. Rips, both open and sewn closed, littered the fabric, and most were razor thin as if cut by an acutely sharp blade. Tifa stepped back and took in a few, steadying breaths. Blood did not bother her, she was merely surprised by what she found was all… At least, that is what she kept telling herself as she turned on her heel and ran away.

And she kept running until she spied Strife again. The blond stranger was muttering under his breath and shaking his head, obviously lost in thought. Tifa watched from a distance as the man walked and paused, his muttering stopping when his steps did the same. At one point, Strife stuffed his hands in both pockets, bowing shoulders as well, as if caught in some sort of tragedy. Then, he suddenly straightened up and stared at the building ahead of him.

Tifa knelt on the ground, ignoring the seeping cold that penetrated her trousers and gloves and nipped at her face. What business could Strife have at the ShinRa mansion? The place was creepy, abandoned and falling to pieces. At one point, there was a rusted iron gate blocking trespassers out, but the previous winter ice finally tore it down with its weight. Now, it was easy to walk up to the front steps (as Strife was currently doing) and enter the building.

Suspicious as well as somewhat frightened, Tifa lingered outside when the blond yanked open the door, his whole presence radiating anger and frustration. When the crashing sounds started, she found herself shivering and gasping with every shattering object. What had caused Strife to destroy this harmless building? And what right did he have to do so? It was ShinRa property and even if the president or his scientists did not stay here anymore that did not mean the company would not arrest someone for vandalism. In fact, by the sound of it, Strife was doing more than merely vandalizing the place; he was wrecking it!

Unwilling to dare going any closer, the brunette remained outside the manor, sable eyes wide with disbelief. Grimy-red bricks trembled every so often and fell from the walls. Empty window frames rattled and those with glass cracked or shattered. The door, already loose on its hinges from Strife's assault, fell free, giving Tifa a clear view of the inside. Just within the threshold, she could see chunks of wood and metal lying askew on the floor. A painting lay torn from its frame, the portrait in near shreds. Bits of fluff from a sofa dotted the area; shattered porcelain and glass covered the floor with a fine powder. She could even see a darkened place on the wall where she suspected there to be a gash made by Strife's abnormally large sword.

Then, all went silent.

And it stayed silent for a long time. Yet, Tifa found herself rooted in place, anticipating Strife's emergence. Would he be wild-eyed with insanity or smirking with smug pride? She knew that she was not going to let Strife get away before she questioned him and demanded to know why he went and attacked the creepy building. Then again, if he was truly crazy, then approaching him might by a tad dangerous. Being a SOLDIER meant that Strife had killed men before, perhaps even liked killing! What was one little girl among a thousand others?

In the midst of her inner debate, she failed to hear the hummed melody within the mansion. Tifa did, however, snap back into alertness when a figure filled the doorway. Strife. A quirky smile was plastered on his face and his eyes were a bit too bright, and he nearly skipped down the front steps. Apparently destroying private property removed the proverbial stick-up-his-ass and made the blond bizarrely bouncy. Strange…

Then, Strife paused and turned, looking back towards the doorway with interest. Tifa could not help but gasp when another figure emerged, his steps slow and his presence foreboding. The first thought that came to mind was, 'GAH, SUPER-MEGA VAMPIRE, MONSTER, DEMON THING!' If it were not for the way Strife urged for the 'thing' to follow, she might have ran screaming into town. Seriously, it was both taller and broader than Strife, with a giant, golden-metal arm, a red cape that covered most of its face, elaborate and pointy metal boots and it had a rifle slung over its shoulder. The thing was scary even if one discounted the fact that it had red eyes. RED. FREAKING. EYES. That was not natural!

Tifa shrank back as the pair made their way away from the mansion. For a short time, the pair stood in relative silence in which Strife periodically pointed at the mansion, the hilt of his sword and at the red-eyed man. Said man glanced between the mansion and Strife with a slight furrow between his dark brows. After a quiet pause, the man nodded and Strife grinned with almost sadistic glee. Without much hesitation, he gripped the sword in both hands and soon the ShinRa mansion was engulfed in flames.

000X000

He was none too sure what to make of the blond stranger. After following the younger man's lead up the stairs out of the catacombs, Vincent found himself puzzled. All around him lay destruction, from scattered papers to broken glass. The ex-Turk hesitated once or twice to brush his fingers against a gouge in the wall or to pick up a ruined letter. There was no point in lingering for very long, all that the blond left behind aside from this ruin was the stench of mako. That familiar, chemical scent was enough to disgust him and urge him onwards—wicked memories threatened to break to the surface. Soon enough, he found reprieve in the opening of a door. True, the air was far from fresh, but the musty taste was preferable over the fumes that lay behind him.

Vincent closed his ruby-colored eyes and tightened his grip on Cerberus. The rifle had seen him through many battles and he had taken it as a prize to his early grave. But now that he was awake and among the living again, there was a sense of urgency that caused him great discomfort. A Turk's instincts were never wrong. A storm was brewing and he would need his prized weapon now more than ever. And he knew that the events soon to occur would all revolve around this mysterious 'SOLDIER'.

That is, if the blond was actually SOLDIER. He held himself like a war-hardened veteran even if his words seemed like nonsense. There was an aura of ominous strength and certainty that radiated off the stranger, the kind trademark of a someone who knew he was dangerous and could take down an enemy without even blinking. But he wore no mark or symbol of ShinRa and spoke with disdain of the company's favorite scientist, Hojo. So how did he get those mako eyes and enhanced strength? It was possible the blond was an escaped experiment of the good doctor, but that did not seem quite right.

No, nothing seemed right about the blond at all. From the way he spoke of things he should not know, to the manner in which he planned to destroy the mansion—it all felt wrong. Not in a way that suggested that the blond was lying, no, but more in the way that made Vincent suspicious of his motivation and questioning of his sanity. Perhaps by humoring the younger man he would learn the whole truth.

Though, the truth would have to wait for a moment. Vincent paused mid-step when he noticed a pair of curious eyes resting on him, even while he stood cloaked in shadows. The strange blond was staring at him, those blue orbs of his murky from the dappled lighting. No one could spy a Turk in hiding! Vincent remembered being one of the stealthiest members in the organization before the good doctor took offense to his 'interest' in Lucrecia and her son and shot him. It was not possible that he had lost his touch, was it?

The stranger smiled; the empty doorframe in which he stood casting him in an almost otherworldly glow. A small gust of wind tugged at his hair and brushed aside his bangs. Vincent blinked slowly upon seeing the single, white mark on the man's brow that had before been hidden. To another, the scar was but a memory of an old injury. To Vincent, someone with a keen eye and a history himself, the mark was more than healed skin. It was a reminder of something tragic…something lost. The stranger had a reason for hiding the mark, but aside from the feeling that washed over him, Vincent knew little else aside from that it likely brought forth painful memories.

"I see you decided to follow me after all." Vincent merely nodded and stepped out of the shadows when the blond spoke, using his human hand to draw the cape around his neck a little higher up on his face. "Good. Come, just a little further now and we can turn this place into ash."

"Your name." The words slipped past his tongue before the stranger could walk away. With his body illuminated by the daylight outside and his head tilted slightly in question, the blond looked impossibly young and untroubled. The radiance fled when a cloud passed over the sun and drowned the world below in gray.

"Call me Strife." Then, the blond turned and padded out of the mansion, his hand trailing towards the monstrous sword between his shoulder blades. Vincent shook his head slightly. Strife. How fitting for someone whom obviously held a heavy burden on his soul. Keeping his shoulders high, the ex-Turk followed the blond outside, briefly pausing to take in the scenery. Such a peaceful backdrop of rolling white, even the perilously jagged rocks and naked limbs of scattered trees that dotted the landscape possessed innocence in their form.

Innocence. The very word struck a chord deep inside Vincent. So little in this world was pure, unadulterated and natural anymore. Then again, everything mankind touched was warped. From the wood and stone from which they built their houses, to rain that now fell toxic from the sky, all of it once was innocent…free of taint. Even men themselves, in their quest to achieve, build and discover stripped of their born virtue, a blessing their race barely holds.

There was a time when Vincent dismissed the simplistic pleasures of snowfall or the fall of healing rain, but among the sins he carried to his grave was that of ignorance. Keen eyes and a sharp mind were useless tools when plunged in the black oblivion of nothingness. When one's only company are demons that seek to rip free of their mortal host, plaguing the thoughts and darkness with nightmares of hell—such ignorance is brought into the light. He had weight still pressing heavy on his soul, questions and doubts that rang as clear as the gunshot that ended his life and cursed him to eternity, but repentance came in many forms. He may never have a thread of his innocence back, that child like wonder of fragile youth, but his ignorance was also a thing of the past, for such was the grinning playmate of virtue. Without virtue, his eyes were open and clear.

Yet what was he to do now that he was awake? Strife promised him information on Lucrecia and her son…potentially their son. No. He banished the thought as quickly as it came. The little boy his lover carried was likely dead, nevertheless he still wished to hear the news from the blue-eyed stranger. Vincent shook his head. He needed to know what happened to them after Hojo shot him. Perhaps such would ease his troubled mind, allow him to life the burden from his heart so that he could move on…carve a place for himself, create a new destiny.

There was always hope. Even in the oblivion he wished was death when he knew it was but shadowed slumber, a small glimmer of light always shone like a star. The demons tried to tear it away and break him, but there was little they could do to rip him apart more than his own guilt did previously. No. He was a Turk. A legend among his people. He was Vincent Valentine! The seeker of truth. The keeper of death's gate. Even the master of lies, thievery and betrayal held close that last star of hope. It was his guiding light. His purpose. The reason he did not fall into the depths of insanity when locked away in self-imposed atonement.

Vincent breathed in deeply before following Strife's lead down the front steps. How long had it been since he had been outside? His boots sank into the frost, leaving footprints no matter how hard he attempted to tread lightly. It was…disconcerting to say the least. Perhaps he had lost his touch? Ruby eyes flicked to Strife whom walked as if he had nothing to fear. Careless of the prints he was leaving; the blond trekked off towards the side of the white-veiled lawn and stood beneath a leafless tree.

He appeared to study his hand for a while before glancing up at the ex-Turk with a blank expression. Gone was the whimsical smile and the mischievous gleam to his eyes. Standing before him was the veteran SOLDIER that had seen too much too young; who had fought for his life until he walked upon the fine line between wanting to survive for fear of death and wanting to face death to prove to himself that he knew no fear. Strife was unstable, likely even insane. He could see the boy within trapped by tendrils of grief and vengeance. But the face the boy wore was that of a man. A mask more out of place than he had first realized.

"It's time to make things right…to cleanse this place with fire." Strife said to him, his voice soft, those blue eyes slightly hooded. He glanced at the mansion and drew his sword. In an unspoken exchange of thoughts, the blond explained his plan. His gestures were direct and simple to understand. From his motions towards the building behind them, to materia slotted in the hilt of his sword, to even Vincent himself—the message was clear.

Strife was seeking his approval for some reason, much like a child seeks a response from a parent. Doubtless the blond would continue his plan had he done otherwise, but for some reason, Vincent found himself nodding. A smile curved on Strife's lips. Turning to face the building, both hands gripping the pommel of the blade, the young warrior focused his energy into the blade and immersed the home of nightmares in churning flames.

000X000

Overflowing with senseless ecstasy, Cloud threw back his head and began to laugh.

The ShinRa mansion was burning, a Mastered Hell Firaga obliterating the hollowed out shell of the building. Support beams crumpled, bricks sprayed across the lawn like miniature Comets, the roof split apart as if made of paper and after a few minutes, the entire structure collapsed in on itself. The air filled with blistering, black smoke—flames leapt and danced in a wild display. At last, it was done. The place that turned him into a monster had burned.

Suddenly, he felt a rush of vertigo as another flashback hit him in full force, tinting everything with green.

_Everything around him was burning. There was no escape. _

"_Mom!" The scream tore from his throat as he rushed towards his home. He balked at the sight of the building engulfed entirely in a white-hot inferno. Even as a SOLDIER failure, Cloud still possessed more strength and less self-preservation than the average boy his age. He raced forwards, desperate to save the only family he ever had. Only, when he hit the door, it did not budge. _

_In fact, he succeeded in earning himself a bruise and some fresh burns, but nothing else. Frightened, Cloud began to pound against the door, trying without success to free the sturdy wood from its hinges. Tears streamed down his blistered cheeks and he screamed for his mother to hang on, that he was coming for her. Finally, the door collapsed, but it revealed a wall of fire behind it._

_Cloud stepped backwards, cringing away from the intensity of the heat. Already his skin was raw and nicked with burns. It was not possible for a normal human being to enter those flames without dying. Yet, in his panic, he almost attempted to do so._

_Then, he thought of everyone else in the town that was suffering a similar fate. Sephiroth had done this. He wanted to kill the townsfolk for no reason whatsoever and Cloud felt a need for revenge that smothered his desperation and grief. Reality washed over him, cold and bittersweet. His mother was gone. Lost to the fire. If he went after her, he would be but another of the hapless victims._

_Filled with purpose, Cloud backed away from his childhood home._

"_I'm sorry." He whispered, sending a silent prayer to Gaia before blinking away the last of his tears and picking up the helmet he had abandoned in his rush. He jammed the uncomfortable thing onto his head and headed for the place he knew Sephiroth would be. The mako reactor._

"_Sephiroth…" The young blond growled under his breath, at last coming to terms that his idol had become a monster before his very eyes. "I will kill you for this." It was a promise he intended to keep or die trying to keep. Gale Strife was his mother, the only person in the world who he called family. He had no father. He had no siblings. Hell, he had no friends either. But before he went to SOLDIER, he at least had a mother. Now, he had nothing._

_His boots crushed the frost, leaving ash-stained indentions on the ground._

"_I will never forget what you have done." Cloud began to run. "I will hate you forever." _

_It was then that he began his journey. With that promise, he sealed his fate. Cold, dark anger seized his heart, hardening him from all the hurt. Soon, Nibelheim was a blazing smudge against the perilous mountain backdrop. _

Cloud took in a sharp breath as he was released from the memory and found himself coughing. Smoke surrounded him and Vincent, though the ex-Turk seemed content with merely pressing the collar of his cape against his nose and mouth. Ruby eyes narrowed with question: _What now_?—he silently asked. Those of mako-stained blue widened: _I do not know_. Cloud screwed his eyes shut and began to walk away from the smoke. For all he was SOLDIER-enhanced, it was entire capable for him to suffocate, which was an experience he would rather not invoke on himself.

Eventually, he sucked in a gulp of clean air, the cold biting at his aching throat and lungs. The blond's body shook with a series of coughs and soon, a foul, black bile spattered the snow at his feet. Cloud sighed with relief when the detoxification finished, allowing him to breathe easy again. When he straightened up and wiped his mouth, Cloud noted that Vincent stood nearby, his expressionless features smudged with gray.

"Are you alright?" Gaia's champion asked and the ex-Turk gave a brief nod in response. Distrust lingered in that blood-colored gaze of his and Cloud knew that only time would change it. Time, the blond knew, he did not have. This was a dream and all dreams came to an end. Only, this one seemed to be persisting. Maybe the Planet wanted him to come to terms with something else.

Jenova came to mind but he shook his head and dismissed the idea. Even if the mutated monstrosity that Sephiroth called Mother was in the reactor, he had no idea how to destroy her. The fossilized Cetra body she inhabited was but a shell imbued with virus-rich cells. A single flake of skin or drop of blood was enough to preserve her legacy of infection, reproduction, reunion and destruction. No one was certain how to destroy Jenova and her influence, especially since her cells were in the blood of every First Class SOLDIER and that meant she could replicate herself indefinitely to infect new hosts.

Cloud hung his head as he thought. Then it hit him. If he could not fully destroy Jenova, he could at least finish off what he started in the destruction of the 'Jenova Project'. Weight pressed heavy against his chest. He would kill Sephiroth again as well as Hojo. In fact, he would wipe out the entire SOLDIER program and bring ShinRa to its knees if it meant breaking the cycle at last…Too bad this was not real. He could have saved so many lives if this were something more tangible than a dream.

Second chances did not happen. Heroes die and Nightmares live on. When he woke, he would be the same man he was before, waiting for his enemy to return from the brink of death yet again. And one day, he would a character of fiction. Ironic how that worked.

"Strife," Vincent's quiet yet commanding voice brought Cloud out of his musings. "We have much to discuss. If you are done with this act of petty arson…" He waved his hand dismissively towards the burning mansion. "…I would like to hear what you have to say of Lucrecia and her son."

"Of course, follow me." Cloud nodded at the ex-Turk and took one last, lingering glance back at the mansion. The sky was practically black with smoke and the frost-covered ground was soiled with ash. It was likely that the building would burn most of the day and there was no one in town who could stop it nor would anyone be harmed by it. Feeling a strange mixture of hollowness, elation, pride and disgust, Cloud decided that it was time to move on. There was no salvaging what would remain and that was his plan in the beginning.

Gaia's hero turned from the scene at last and trekked towards the open gate. A hot cup of the local brew sounded good and the inn would provide a convenient place to converse. Even if the cold did not bother him very much, Cloud still held a great appreciation for simple, human comforts like a stiff drink, a home cooked meal and a cushioned chair near a lit, wood burning fireplace.

Vincent moved like a shadow behind him, his tattered cape billowing out as he trailed the blond. Cloud could not help but wonder why he was not waking up and if this dream version of his friend would remember him at all with some prompting. If not, he could happily waste some time talking to the gunman until Gaia released him and allowed him to wake. It had been a long time since he and Vincent had a chance to do so.

Slowly, he guided the ex-Turk back towards the town, a faint smile ghosting upon his lips now and then.

000X000

Tifa ran as fast as she could towards home. She could only watch the mansion burn for so long before panic set in. For someone who looked so similar to Cloud, Strife was nothing like the introverted teen that recently left Nibelheim to chase dreams. Yet, even after watching Strife go crazy and destroy the creepy building, she found herself no less enthralled by the man. The way the smoke and flames reflected in his powerful gaze was enough to send her heart fluttering.

She had to be nuts herself to be drawn to him.

But, that was neither here nor there since her only goal was to get away from the scene as fast as possible. Tifa did not realize how greatly she pushed her limit of endurance until she came to a stop outside the Lockheart manor. Her whole body ached and her legs felt like pudding. She wanted to collapse right there, but she held herself strong and opened the door.

Staggering a few steps, Tifa did her best to stay standing, but ended up tumbling over due to her left knee buckling. Strong hands caught her. The brunette blinked up at the elderly butler who stopped her fall. He was gray and wrinkled, but tall and sturdy, a true, mountain-bred man. Even under the crisp uniform he wore, she could see the years spent toiling in the wilderness, just to make it through the hazardous winters, in the breadth of his shoulders alone.

"T-thanks." She stuttered, attempting to stand on her own.

"Is there something amiss, Miss Lockheart?" The man inquired politely.

"Yes…N-no…Maybe…I don't know." Tifa shook her head with frustration,"Just…there's a stranger in town whose going by the name Strife…and I think he's the trouble making sort."

"I see. Should I inform your father?"

Tifa sighed,"Not sure. But I don't think anything good is going to come of Strife being here."

The graying butler seemed to understand.

"Very well, Miss Lockheart."

"I-I..I think I'm going to take a nap. Don't tell father I'm here, please."

"I will practice discretion on the matter in his presence."

"Thanks…" She murmured before slowly wandering towards the stairs leading to the second floor. Some part of her hoped that everything was a dream but another part knew that this was real. Strife had come to destroy the ShinRa mansion and now had a vampire friend following him around. Could things get any worse?

000X000

It was a shock, to say the least, when the good doctor came sputtering from his laboratory, clothing skewed. Sephiroth stood where he had come to wait for whatever news Hojo had deemed so important that he hear. The silver-haired General inclined his head slightly as the greasy scientist paced before him, muttering nonsense beneath his breath, adjusting his coke-bottle glasses in a reflexive gesture of frustration. Uncertain whether to find the situation amusing or disturbing, Sephiroth continued to remain silent and observant, his face expressionless.

It was always worrisome when the good doctor was in one of his moods. A bad temper quickly turned into sadistic manipulation in which the man abused his control over the young General. Sephiroth hated Hojo more than anything else in the world, but the scientist remained alive, his wicked brilliance the only reason why the General did not use his impressive strength to snap his neck. Yes. The great, imposing General of ShinRa, the poster boy that everyone both feared and admired, was on a very short leash held by the man whom created him.

Such left a bitter taste in his mouth. Knowing that Hojo could potentially turn his frustrations towards him in the form of any manner of tests or whatnot, Sephiroth decided it best to at least remind the man he was there. Politely, he cleared his throat, quirking both brows in the process. At last, the scientist discontinued his rambling to turn his attention on the silver General, those beady, black eyes unblinking. Unlike when he normally put Sephiroth through hell, Hojo did not smile. He continued to look perturbed and slightly confused. Had the good doctor finally lost his mind? Then again, Sephiroth mused inwardly, had the man ever been sane?

Once again reverting to his silence, he allowed Hojo to rake his eyes over his leather-clad form with disapproval. Despite his being the epitome of male perfection, the scientist always found some flaw to sink his claws into and manipulate. Usually he made some comment about his weight or the length of his hair, on one occasion the man even complained about Sephiroth's unusual eyes. But the next day he would poke and pry at some other meaningless factor that degraded his prized creation even further…guaranteeing that the General remained compliant—albeit curt—when speaking to him.

"So you decided to show up, boy?" Hojo eventually snapped, at last abandoning his glasses to rest low on his nose. Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, the only response he graced the scientist with. Showing weakness was not an option. The man thrived off the misery of others, especially when it was he who caused the misery. "I was almost certain that I would have to fetch you from that pedestal the President keeps you on." The good doctor sneered, jabbing at the silver General with one finger, as if doing so would garner a reaction from the statue-like SOLDIER. "You have been rather… rebellious as of late. Then again, you never have responded well to people taking away your favorite toys."

A low growl built in Sephiroth's chest and was barely smothered before it escaped. Hojo was referring to Genesis and Angeal, his two closest—and potentially only—friends. They were also his best SOLDIERs, invaluable assets to the company, that everyone pretended never existed, as if doing so would change a thing. He was not exactly certain what was happening to the two men, but the advanced aging and the sprouting of wings told him that it was due to the mistakes of a scientist.

"Are you even listening to me, boy?" Hojo gave the front of the silver-haired General's trench coat a surprisingly strong pull. It was enough to gain his attention, though nothing else. Sephiroth blinked, his exotic, mako-green eyes betraying none of his inner anger. Though, the slit pupils did dilate for a split second when the ever present thought of killing the good doctor came to mind. But now was not the time for pleasant fantasies. "Of course you are." The grin on the man's face sent a chill down the General's spine. "You always listen like a good little boy. Following orders is part of your nature even if you play General for the public. Now…listen closely. There is something I need you to take care of for me."

"I am not your personal assassin, Hojo." Sephiroth cut in, his words like ice.

"Whoever said anything about killing anyone?" There was a bright quality to Hojo's voice that reminded him of his youth. All those times where the good doctor would tell him that everything would be fine as long as Sephiroth behaved. Such usually involved horrendous pain, the splitting of flesh and bone, mako searing through his every pore like fire. The man was plotting and he expected Sephiroth to do as he was told like a good little pet. He was lucky that Sephiroth even deigned to grace the laboratory with his presence after the abominations that Hojo committed in there.

People called him the monster, the bloodthirsty Demon of Wutai. Never did they look at the power-happy scientist that stood behind him, pulling the strings until they half-strangled him each time he tried to go against the tide. Freedom. It was all Sephiroth wanted…ever wanted. With freedom came a sense of belonging, acceptance…with it came a chance of becoming more than a monster. With the small taste of freedom that came in becoming General, he gained the friendship of people who could care less that he was born and raised in the labs. Who knew what could happen if he could cut the ties that bound him without tightening the chokehold ShinRa had around his life?

"You, boy, are capable of much more than destruction." Sephiroth barely managed to hold his tongue upon hearing Hojo say that. This was coming from the man who raised him up to be a weapon, nothing less, and strived to mold him into something more, but in his quest for perfection had ultimately smothered. "You command the entire army. The people follow you. Yes. They need you."

"Cease speaking in riddles, Hojo, I am a busy man." The silver General retorted, earning himself a cold glare from the good doctor.

"Insolent boy, but, such I will correct at a later date." Hojo spoke in clipped tones. "For now, I need you—or at the very least some of your top men—to investigate a disturbance in Nibelheim. One of the President's estates is built at the outskirts of the town and I have reports that all connections to it are down."

"How does this concern myself or even SOLDIER?"

"Because, boy, it is likely that whatever destroyed the mansion is very powerful and dangerous. Now you would not want some innocent townspeople killed because you did not believe it was a matter of concern." Hojo was playing a dangerous game with the mocking tone he voiced. But like all games, two could play. Sephiroth's mouth worked into a shape some would call a smirk and others a grimace. It contorted his beautiful features into something bordering the brink of insanity…of inhumanity.

"Very well, Hojo. I will send someone to investigate and if need be, deal with the issue. Is that all you wish to say to me?"

"Not quite. This is very…sensitive information. Keep the nature of the investigation secret from all but whom are involved. No need for a Turk to pry to deeply into this business for they are always whispering such nonsense into the President's ear."

Sephiroth nodded and turned on his heel, knowing full well that there was a deeper reason behind why the head scientist was interested in an estate that the President never visited. He would have to assign this "mission" to investigate to someone he could trust to report to him and him alone. Folding his arms behind his back, the silver General began to plot.

000**TBC**000

**A/N: Review? I hope you all enjoy this and many thanks to those who have read and commented. You readers are the main reasons why I write, aside from the fact that I **_**love**_** to write. **


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